Lasting Relics
by Kienova
Summary: He couldn't have these last things taken away. He just couldn't. Set post- Civil War.


_**Author's Note:**_ I've never written these two before so it's way out of my comfort zone. Apologies for any mistakes, they're all mine.

* * *

"Please," Bucky croaked, hand clinging tightly to the dog tags around his neck, pulling his knees up to shelter the photograph that lay in his lap. "Please, don't make me take these off. Please don't take this away from me." The words spilled out of his lips with abandon, little to no ability left in his tired body to temper them. Each syllable was laced with panic and longing, desperate to cling to the little pieces of the world that he held so close to his heart for months on end, secreted away in the nooks and crannies of his clothes, safely locked away from the prying eyes of the world and those that lived in it.

He didn't care that he sounded pathetic, letting the warm and sweaty metal drop from his hand against his chest with a dull thud only so that he could frantically try and shove the photograph into his pocket. He fumbled, attempting the task with shaking fingers from the only hand he had left, cringing when a ragged nail caught on the loose string that adorned the inner hem. He felt sick and dizzy at the prospect of having the memory that the photo encompassed taken away; needed to be able to see it again when he woke up. He knew that life would go on around him once he was asleep. That things would continue; that Steve would move forward. Would move on. Bucky knew he was being selfish in a way, but he needed to have the photo. The light in the midst of a darkness he had endured too many times to count. The light he still saw in his heart when he thought of the blonde man in his moments of weakness, even back when he didn't know his own name.

The image was old, from the thirties. One of the few surviving items that had come into the future with them. It was everything to Bucky. It showed him and Steve still as teenagers, laughing, Steve on Bucky's back as they ran through the streets of Brooklyn. He didn't even know who had taken it anymore, the fact lost in the abyss of his mind, but he knew what that day was. To him, that day had been when he realised how he felt for his best friend. When he truly admitted, at least to himself, that he loved Steve. He couldn't endure the thought that it could be ripped from his grasp and that he would have nothing when he woke up. The edges were tattered and worn, the paper no longer crisp and firm to the touch, but rather soft and malleable. Delicate. Worn in a way that only time and touch could make it.

The dog tags, Steve's, stolen from the Smithsonian ages before, a mere copy on display in their place, felt heavy against his chest. He wanted nothing more than to tuck them beneath his shirt so that the doctors and nurses and scientists couldn't see them. So that they wouldn't want to take them away. He wanted them to brand the words imprinted in the metal into his skin, safe against his heart, the muscle beating wildly beneath his breast as his lungs struggled to pull in air.

Steve may not be there when they would awaken him in the future. Could well be off and married to Sharon or another woman in the time it takes for them to figure out how to wipe the twisted parts of Bucky's psyche out until he is no longer a danger. He didn't want to think about the reality that he could wake up alone again, his heart pounding and convulsing in his chest until he managed to shove the photo all the way into his pocket, his shaking fingers once again curling around the tags, his knuckles pressed into the flesh and fabric above his heart.

"Sergeant Barnes," one of the nurses started.

"Please," Bucky begged, voice cracking as he spoke. He couldn't help the tears that gathered, clinging to his lashes as he looked at the woman beseechingly. "Please, they're all I have." He could feel his chest tightening, his entire body wanting to lurch into panic. "I… he… please," he managed, vision clouding slightly at the edges as he found it harder to breathe, unable to draw in a full breath. He closed his eyes against the harsh white room, biting on the end of his tongue to hold in the sob he knew was simmering just below the surface, only a matter of moments before it would break free and shatter the last bit of control he was holding onto.

"We aren't going to take anything from you Sergeant," the woman said, waving a hand until the others cleared themselves from the room, leaving the broken man with an audience of one. "I have no orders to insist that you remove any personal items unless they are weapons. I shall give you a moment before I allow Captain Rogers to come in, I am sure he will wish to speak to you before you go to sleep." She took her leave to the other side of the room then, allowing Bucky to slowly piece himself back together enough that he would be able to say goodbye to Steve without falling to pieces. He tucked the dog tags away, safe beneath his shirt, before dragging in a ragged breath to centre himself.

Steve looked on edge when he finally came into the room, not able to make eye contact for the first few seconds until he found the words in his throat.

"You sure about this?" The question was loaded with more than he was saying, confusion, anger, and a sense of loss that Bucky could pick up on even in his compromised state. The place at his side ached for an arm that had been missing for years but had become a live wire of pain again since the prosthetic was blown off days before. He wished he could ask for more time; that he could bask in Steve's attention for just an hour more, even a minute, but he knew he was taking a risk in every moment he remained awake.

"I can't trust my own mind. So, until they can get this stuff out of my head I think going back under is the best thing… for everybody." He managed the words with more conviction than he thought possible, the smile he gave broken and weak, but all he had to offer.

"We will find a way Buck. I promise you. I… I already have an idea where to start. There's a… magician of sorts -" Steve started, scratching the back of his neck nervously. Bucky nodded, sighing and closing his eyes. If he kept looking at Steve he knew he would lose his resolve; would bound from the table and refuse to go through with the plan he knew was best for everyone's safety, especially Steve's, because of the selfishness that lay in his heart.

"Thanks Stevie," he murmured, unable to tell the man to go on with his life; to occupy himself with someone else in that moment, if only so that he could feel that he was one of the most important things in Steve's world for just a few more breaths. He allowed the other man to help him to the chamber they had set up, watching as Steve carefully strapped him in, the man's blue eyes filled with regret.

"I promise I'll be here when you wake up. I promise." The words were said with such conviction Bucky could only nod, not trusting his own voice as the scientists started up the machine. Steve squeezed his hand with one of his own, the other resting on his neck, thumb stroking along his jawbone. If he felt the chain of the dog tags under his pinky, he made no comment of it, reluctantly pulling back as the machine started to whir softly.

"Take care of yourself," Bucky called, closing his eyes as resting his head against the back of the chamber, trying to calm his breathing as he felt the darkness closing in.

"You too." The words slid into the last recesses of his consciousness, calming his frayed nerves as he forced himself to feel the warmth of the metal on his chest and the slight crinkle of the photo in his pocket as he was pulled under. He didn't see the forlorn expression on Steve's face, nor the way he fingered at the old watch that adorned his wrist, having been left in storage when Steve entered the army and only found again once he knew Bucky was alive - when he knew that the time piece wasn't the only thing he had left of his best friend. It has been Bucky's first, all those years ago, until he had left it in Steve's care.

He watched the hands tick around for a few moments, unable to see Bucky succumb to the cold slumber. In his mind he was planning. How long it would take him to find the magician. How long it would take for them to find a cure for Bucky. How long until he would have his friend back with him again. And how long he could keep the words 'I love you' locked in his heart before they spilled out of his mouth when he had Bucky at his side once again.


End file.
